


Of Stone and Steel

by FromOrzammarWithLove



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Sparring, Talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 06:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromOrzammarWithLove/pseuds/FromOrzammarWithLove
Summary: How Ragna Brosca and Sten fell in love.





	1. The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I published the first two chapters as individual works, before realizing that I want to tell more of this story. Rated mature for future chapters.

Ragna missed the heat, the endless fires of the lava rivers, back in Dust Town. She missed the roaring laughter of Leske, as well as Rica’s warm words and even warmer hugs. Sometimes, she even missed the searing hot, mosswine-fueled rage of Kalah and the burning anger of the higher castes. They were part of home, after all.

The surface world was incomprehensibly large, cold and damp from the wind and the rain. Even the people seemed cold; detached and distant, quiet and closed.

There was some warmth to be found with the company Ragna kept. Especially in the evenings, when the companions gathered around the campfire. There was the kind warmth of nurture from Wynne, who taught Ragna how to read and write properly. There was the soothing warmth of Zevran, whose string of compliments trickeled into Ragna’s mind like oil onto a torch. There was the child-like warmth of Alistair, whose enthusiasm for everything was contagious as a wildfire and the warmth of Fereldan liquor, when it ran down Ragna’s throat, like fire itself, contained in a bottle. But then there was Sten.

The Qunari was stern, stoic, immovable, unreadable, like a cold cliff against the raging sea. When he sat at the fire, the flames never caught his eyes. His thoughts were always somewhere else, somewhere far away, drifting into the stars like smoke. Talking to him was frustrating. It sometimes felt like talking to him through layers of distorting fog. Her words only brushed against his hard exterior, never reaching within, never touching his mind. Even when she tried to argue with him, he never seemed to have a reaction, apart from a blank stare, empty sarcasm and a cold smile. Like the stone of a furnace, still cool even though a fire had been burning against it for hours.

But when they sparred for the first time, everything changed. It was a pretend fight, though no stranger could be able to tell. The two opponents threw everything they had into this battle. Like heavy war dromods, they crashed into each other, the metal of Asala crushing against the steel of Ragna’s shield, again and again. Sten’s strikes were precise, skilled, but there was a force behind them he had never showed previously. By the fifth strike Ragna could barely hold her arm up anymore, from the power of his blows, and by the sixth she was too slow, and the flat end of Asala hit her square in the face. Cursing, she cast the shield away and gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands. The sweat was beading on her forehead and her shield-arm was sore and bruised, beneath the heavy plate of her armor. She could feel a metallic taste in her mouth and when she spat on the floor, it was blood that stained the ground. Despite all of this, she grinned. The fight elated her, made her feel alive, again. This was what she was made for. The two opponents started circling each other. Every step Sten made to the left, Ragna made to the right. She kept her gaze fixed on the violet eyes of the Qunari.

Suddenly, emitting a wild roar, she wrenched her sword into the air and plunged herself at the other warrior. For a moment Sten seemed surprised, from the intensity of her move and made a step back, then he caught himself, switched into a defensive stance, and prepared himself for her attack. Ragna didn’t waver, didn’t waste a thought on the potential danger of this reckless manuevre, as she dashed the final few steps in her opponent’s direction. Her blade would have pierced right through his shoulder, but in the last moment, Sten jumped to the side and parried with his own blade.

The swords hit each other at an awkward angle, producing a single spark from the friction of their strokes. Ragna was now just in front of Sten, craning her neck to meet his gaze. He was so close, she could smell him. He was also sweating from the fight, and despite trying to hide it, he was heaving just as much as she was. He was gritting his teeth and his mouth was formed into a stressed snarl. He was getting tired, as well. Good. She could tell that he was hoping to beat her with pure force, leaning into the blade, as it struck against Ragna’s longsword, locking the blades together from the force of the fighters. Just as she had thought.

Quickly, with the last strength she had in her, she ducked to the side and jumped out of reach, leaving the massive Qunari to stumble forward, in surprise. Before falling, he caught himself with his knee, but he had lost his balance, kneeling on one leg, and Asala was pointing down. Before Sten had the chance to change his stance, Ragna was above him, the tip of her sword resting at his neck.

“Yield.”, she said, in the same monotone, that he always used, cold indifference dripping a single word. This seemed to infuriate him. His eyebrows furrowed and he stared at her with a searing, furious rage, his lower lip quivering, as if about to spat out an insult. When he was on one knee, his eyes were at the same height as Ragna’s were, standing up. They were both panting heavily. He stirred beneath her, readying himself for… something. She couldn’t look without averting her gaze, and that would give him an opening to strike. How could she have a blade at this throat, and still not have the upper hand?

“Yield!”, she said again, this time it was a command. His snarl changed into an angry smile, and Sten had the audacity to chuckle at her words, then laugh openly. He was mocking her. “Is this all the Grey Warden has to offer?”, he laughed at her face, with a startling intensity. “Perhaps the Qun is not wrong, after all”. She pierced him. Carefully, just to draw blood, not hurt him, but it was enough. The Qunari’s laugh ceased just as quickly, as it had come, and with a startled gasp he threw himself away from her, clutching at his neck and then looking at his fingers to check for blood.

He parried her next blow, and the blow after that, as well. Ragna wanted to channel the force of her next strike to paralyze his hand for a moment, so that she could disarm him, but he saw through it, striking so hard with his greatsword, that he almost cleaved her from the bend of her neck downwards, had she not worn any armor.

He seemed surprised that his blow had struck, his face suddenly flushed with concern, for a faint moment, or was she imagining it? It didn’t matter, his hesitation had finally given her another opening, and she feigned another attack, then jumped over his low blade and landed with all of her weight on his chest, knocking both of them to the ground. She could feel the air leave his lungs under her weight and he wrung for air. With her left foot she finally kicked Asala out of his hand, then she constrained his torso beneath her legs, keeping him on his back, and pointed her blade straight at his chest. “One false move…”, she threatened, waiting for him to react.

And Sten laughed again. He laughed and laughed until it turned into a dry cough. “Ah, that was a fight!”, he said adoringly, panting, his eyes fixed on the sky above them. “Will you yield?”, Ragna asked, not loosening her grip. “Yes, Kadan. You win this time”. He took his gaze from the sky and found her brown eyes. He reached out and touched the bend of her neck. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of such tenderness. “Kadan”, he repeated the word, once more, his voice softer than Ragna had ever heard it.

“Kadan?”, she lifted an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

For a moment his eyes seemed to widen and he coughed again, lowering his hand to his mouth. “Nothing”, he said, when he was done. “Get off me, Warden”.

“It didn’t sound like nothing”, Ragna said.

“It means I respect you, and I trust you. It means that I…” he froze, mid-sentence and thought, staring up at her. Then, he sighed, and said: “I can’t translate it. I’m sorry”.

“No worries, Sten”, Ragna answered, clamouring to her feet, and offering her arm to pull him up, as well. He gladly took it. His touch was hot against her hand and it made Ragna feel warm. He was no cold cliff, no wisp of fog. He was the fury of a fighter, the rage of battle, the burning in Ragna’s chest, when she caught his gaze. He was the sun.


	2. A Place For Valor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ragna wonders what this strange Qunari Word is, that Sten keeps calling her. Sten opens up about his past. Alternate title: Idiots don't know how to talk about their feelings.

„Does it still hurt?“, the Qunari’s voice pulled Ragna Brosca from her thoughts and she looked up at her large companion. Sten had been walking next to her for a while, but she hadn’t noticed. In all their weeks of travelling together, Sten had never been the one to initiate a conversation.

„Your wound?“, he said, glancing at Ragna’s shoulder, where he had hit her with the blunt end of his sword, during their sparring session, the evening prior. The dwarf smiled.

„It’s bruising up a bit“, she answered. „But I assume your throat is worse?“. It was a question. Ragna had cut the Qunari during their session. Enough to draw blood. Sten’s hand absentmindedly touched the red scab, just below his Adam’s apple. „It is healing. A clean cut and nicely done. Asit tal-eb, Kadan.“

Ragna lifted an eyebrow at that. „That word you use, ‘Kadan’... you’re still not going to tell me what it means?“. That made the Qunari shift around uncomfortably, before he simply said: „No“, and the silence between them returned.

For a while the only thing Ragna heard was the chirping of birds in the bushes and fields, as well as the sound of her footsteps on the dirt road and the clanking of her armor. A lively conversation between Shale and Alistair carried over to her ears, and further behind them, Wynne and Leliana were involved in a deep conversation. The others were out of earshot.

„I meant to ask you...“, Sten began again, much to Ragna’s surprise. This time she did react: „You’re being rather chatty today, Sten. What’s on your mind?“.

He ignored her tone and said: „I was meaning to ask you something, Kadan. I have been thinking about it, ever since we left Redcliffe“.

„Must be important then“, Ragna said, grinning. „Or have your thoughts been distracted by our little battle scars?“.

Sten’s facial expressions slipped, as he pressed his lips together and visibly rolled his eyes. „They have, though not in a way you might think, Kadan“. And there it was back again, the feeling of walls between them. He could say something so simple and yet Ragna could not read what he meant. His face never revealed anything about what he was feeling or thinking and Ragna was left with the wildest interpretations dancing around in her mind, always sure she must be misinterpreting him and yet too proud to ask him, knowing well that she would most likely just recieve another sarcastic cryptic comment, followed by puzzling silence.

There was no time left for Ragna to ponder what Sten had said, for without wasting air, he simply continued: „The dwarf we met in Redcliffe. Dwyn, correct?“

„I think that was his name, yeah“, Ragna said. Where was he going with this?

„He was very strange“, Sten said.

„Oh, you know. That’s just a dwarven thing. We have strange blood. Comes from living under so much stone, I hear“, Ragna said with a chuckle.

„Warden-“, Sten said, in a exasperated voice, but before he could start complaining, Ragna defensibly lifted her hands and said: „Alright, alright. I’ll stop. Please, continue“. She made an exhaggerated gesture and grinned at the Qunari, but she let him talk.

„He was content to sit in his house and watch the village around him fall to the undead. Why? He was certain he would still benefit. How?“

„Why does anyone do anything, Sten? It’s uncommon for us dwarves to have your sense of purpose. At least where I grew up“, Ragna answered, with a sigh.  
„Are you not both from Orzammar?“, Sten asked, puzzled, stopping and staring at her. Ragna stopped, too, bewildered by his confusion.

„Everything alright over there?“, she could hear Alistair call from behind them. She called back without looking: „Yes, everything’s fine!“, then she motioned at Sten to keep on moving and the two of them carried on.

„Technically we are both from Orzammar, but... well...“, she searched for the right words, looking down at the dirt road, while she was walking. „Dust Town is... different, if you will, from the rest of Orzammar“.

„Dust Town?“, Sten asked, lifting an eyebrow.

„It’s where I grew up. Where all the casteless do“.

„Casteless? What is that?“

„Sten, how much exactly do you know about dwarves?“, Ragna asked, laughing.

„Not nearly enough, it seems. I apologize. There are not many of your kind in Par Vollen, and I have met none in Seheron“, Sten answered.

The thought of Qunari dwarves made Ragna’s head spin, but she didn’t dwell on it. „So I take it the Qunari have no castes? No clans?“.

„No castes. No clans. Everyone is the same in the face of the Qun.“, Sten answered and though his gaze was still on her, Ragna could tell his eyes were somewhere far away.

„That sounds beautiful“, Ragna said, her smile fading from her lips.

„It is“, Sten answered breathlessly, almost a whisper, his eyes fixed on her, as if he were taking her sight in for the first time.

And then the silence returned. For almost half and hour the two of them walked silently next to each other. Together, but each of them so caught up in their own thoughts, that it was as though a barrier were placed between them. Soon they had ventured so far ahead of their companions, that they were nowhere to be seen, as well as heard. They had a large head start on the others. Ragna and Sten approached a large oak tree, on the side of the road, where they wordlessly decided to wait.

It was Ragna who broke the silence. „Casteless is what I am, Sten. It’s what this means“, she lifted a hand to her cheek and showed Sten her brand. „They burn this onto our faces when we are born. It marks us as casteless, the lowest of the low. Forsaken by the Stone, because our ancestors weren’t worthy enough. Forbidden to leave Dust Town, forbidden to find work, forbidden to wield a sword, don a suit or armor and brandish a shield. Forbidden to do anything but cower in the dust and beg and steal our daily meal“, she leaned against the tree and slid downwards, to sit on one of its roots.

„And yet you have done all of these things“, Sten answered, his tone as unreadably neutral as ever.

„Yes. And I can never return because of it. I’ll be spending the rest of my life in this cold, rainy, stinking mudhole of a country, hunting darkspawn and fighting the blight til either I die, or the archdemon eventually scrambles my brian, and you know what? It’s still better than what my people have to suffer back home“. Old anger flared up inside her. She knew Sten could sense it. He was quiet for a bit, gathering his thoughts, before he finally spoke up.

„This surface, as you call it, does not just consist of Ferelden, you know?“, Sten said. „It is not cold and muddy in Par Vollen. We have white shores, clear seas, palm trees and the richest forest you will ever see. We do have rain however. That we do. But that is not what I am trying to say“, he said, pausing again to find the right words. He took a seat next to her, so close she could smell him.

„When I woke up in this cold, rainy, stinking mudhole of a country, and Asala was not by my side, it meant I’d never get to return home, either. I had brought shame on myself and the Qun for this failure and had condemned myself to a half-life out here“ He made a sweeping gesture over the sprawling landscape in front of them, which, despite their harsh words, did look rather beautiful in the orange light of the late afternoon sun. The beige plants on the fields - hop, Wynne had told her - in front of them looked golden in its light, and the patch of forest behind the field looked a little more green and a little less dark and dour. Still, Ragna understood what Sten meant. The distinct feeling of not belonging to this landscape, of being an outsider, an intruder, a stranger sitting beneath this tree, was a strong feeling. She had felt it countless times before, but now it sank into her flesh and clung to her soul.

„I thought I would become Tal-Vashoth, the same as the countless fiends I had slain on Seheron. Without the Qun, what was there in my life? What could I possibly do but give in to this... this primal bloodlust? And I did. For reasons I cannot recall now, I killed a farmer and his family. I spilled the blood of innocents. Bas they were, but innocent still.“ He made another pause, staring out over the golden hop fields. Ragna had never witnessed him talk so much of his own accord.

„When I came back to my senses, Asala was still lost and I was still Tal-Vashoth. But I made a decision. I was not going to give in to the bloodlust. Not ever again. I was abandoned by the Qun, but that did not mean the Qun was not still a part of my mind. And so I turned myself in, to the guards of Lothering. I was prepared to die then. For days I waited in that cage. And then...“

„Then we found you“, Ragna finished his sentence. Sten turned to face her. His violet eyes found her brown ones and for a faint moment, Ragna thought she could see the Qunari smile.

„Then you found me. And you helped me get Asala back. Now I can return home again. Because of you, Kadan.“

„That’s wonderful for you, Sten. For me it’s more likely I’ll die in some ditch, at the hands of a darkspawn, than that I’ll ever go home. And if I did it would just be to return to the old suffering, the worthlessness of being casteless“, Ragna answered.

„Then perhaps you should not go home.“, Sten said and closed more of the almost non-existant distance between them. „There is worth in your life, Kadan. There is value, honor, a purpose.“

„I have a purpose. I’m going to stop this blight, or die trying“, Ragna gave back, staring intensely at Sten, whose face was now right in front of hers. He put his hand on hers.

„And I will fight at your side until the end. But if the blight is defeated and the archdemon slain. Know this, Ragna, there is a place in this world for you. Where your valor can be used to benefit all. Where I...“, his voice trailed off and he finally broke eye contact.

„You’ve never called me Ragna before.“, Ragna said. „You’ve never said my name, not once, until now“.

Sten looked down and sighed. „We do not use names in the qun. Who we are is more important than what we are called“.

„Is that why you’ve been calling me Kadan, instead of Ragna?“

„No. That is... something else.“, Sten said cryptically, and fixed his gaze on the horizon. And with that they fell silent once more, but this time there was not barrier between them. This time, it was as if finally Ragna was able to see beneath his surface. He had never let go of her hand. He was still close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. And she realized something. Something that had been creeping up on her these past days. She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. He never pulled away.


	3. Fireside Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Party gathers around the campfire to discuss the Future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Long delay, but I'm in the middle of moving at the moment and this chapter took quite a while to write. I hope you enjoy and would Love to hear your thoughts or suggestions. Enjoy!

Setting up camp had become a daily routine everyone knew so well, they didn't argue over their respective jobs anymore. Leliana and Morrigan ventured into the woods to hunt, one shapechanged, the other with her bow at the ready. Alistair, Shale and Ragna set up the tents, Zevran and Sten checked the surrounding area for potential ambushes, signs of other passers through, scouts or traps, while Wynne, with the help of the Mabari Paragon, who zoomed around the mage, bringing her stick after stick, gathered wood and started a cookfire. Sometimes during the evening, the dwarven merchant Bodahn and his son Sandal would find their camp and offer their Services, other nights they'd spend in nearby settlements, to restock. This was such a night, Ragna noticed, sadly. Without the company of her fellow dwarves, the camp was much less lively.

Ragna held a steel herring in place and Shale yanked it into the ground with one powerful punch. "That's the last one", the large golem said. Ragna brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear and sat down with a sigh. "I still don't understand why Morrigan doesn't camp with the rest of us", Alistair commented, as he walked around the witch's tent and joined them. "It snores. Quite loudly, I must say", Shale said. That made the others chuckle. "Morrigan keeps her distance. Give her time. She's still adjusting", Ragna said, fidgeting with the buckles of her grieves. "And she's not the only one", she added, more quietly, as the buckle slipped out of her fingers again and again. A short moment of uncomfortable silence passed, before Alistair noticed Ragna struggling with the buckle. "Let me get that", he said and squatted down next to her. 

Within a few minutes the two warriors had helped each other doff their armor. As soon as Ragna felt the weight of the plate armor and chainmail underneath lift from her body and was able to move her shoulders freely, she felt ten years younger. She also felt just how much her muscles ached. 

Her Sparring session with Sten had been brief, but intense. None of them had held back. She wasn't used to fighting like that. Back in Dust Town skirmishes had been quick and painless, usually as an ambush, or against foes who didn't know how to fight. As Ragna felt hot shame welling up over her past Life, her thoughts wandered back to Sten, and what he had said earlier. "There is a place in this world for you. Where your valor can be used to benefit all". But was it valorous to beat the money off dusters? Was there honor in fistfights over Carta turf? What kind of brave warrior leaves their family and best friend behind? The ghost of Leske's smile flickered through her mind, the distant memory of Rica's hugs. Even her mother. Had she left them to die back home? Had Beraht's thugs taken their vengeance to them? All because Ragna just had to fight in that sodding Proving! For what? To prove she wasn't just another Carta thug? But that was exactly what she was. If anything she had proven Orzammar's stereotypes right. If Sten knew what Ragna did, what she used to enjoy doing, how she had presented her bloody knuckles like gemstone rings, for all the world to see and smiled when the other Dusters looked at her and Leske with fear, would he still claim her to be valorous? Would he still call her what he did? Kadan...

She still didn't know what it meant. But the way he said it gave her an idea. Was this something Qunari warriors called each other? A title of sorts? If Sten knew what her life in Dust Town was like, she was sure he would just call her warden again.

She absentmindedly rubbed the bruise on the bend of her neck and let out a strained sigh as it hurt. "Well... It's looking... purple", Alistair said, noticing her wound. They carried their metal and leather bundles back to their tents and joined Wynne at the campfire. "Honestly, I almost thought you were going at it for real", Alistair said, staring at Ragna's bruised skin.

"Good, I wanted to have a word with you on that", Wynne piped in, as the three of them approached. "Alistair, be a dear and fetch us some water. There's a stream down there", the mage said, handing him a pale and gesturing in a direction south of camp. 

"Can't you just, I dunno... Magic up some water?", Alistair said with a groan, but Wynne gave him a sharp look that allowed no backtalk. "Alright, fine", he groaned, taking the pale and trotting off.

"Shale my dear, could you help him carry the water? We don't want him to spill it", Wynne said, adressing the golem. Shale looked at Ragna.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it to both of us", Ragna answered, laying a hand on Shale's arm. "As you wish", Wynne said, shrugging. "Have a Seat", she added, patting the ground next to her. As Ragna sat down, she said: "If this is about Sten, I don't doubt his loyalty one bit. I asked him to spar last night."

"Oh yes, I'm perfectly aware of that", Wynne answered. "I don't doubt you'd be the one to suggest this folly. Pull up your sleeve", she pointed at Ragna's shield arm. Begrudgingly, Ragna pulled up the sleeve of her grubby gambeson, exposing a big blue and yellow bruise, where Asala's impact had hit her. "Two sprained fingers, a bruised back and a scab to the neck. That's the fruit of your idea of fun. He only let me heal the fingers, by the way", Wynne said, methodically examining Ragna's arm and tracing something with her fingers on the sore flesh. Small white lights appeared on Ragna's arm and sank beneath her skin. It felt cool, but not unpleasant, and within moments her skin turned back to its usual color and the soreness left Ragna's arm.

"It's really not that bad, I've had much worse-", Ragna began saying, but when she saw Wynne's eyebrows furrow annoyed, she cut herself off. "Now your shoulder", Wynne continued, helping Ragna pull down the gambeson far enough to show her wound, but not to expose herself. "Now, I'm not entirely aware of Qunari customs, but when I was last in Orzammar, this...", She slightly pushed Ragna's shoulder forward, so that the warden was able to look at the large bruise that reached from the bend of her neck, down over her shoulder, to her breast, "...was not what the dwarves considered fun".

"Clearly you've never been to Dust Town", Ragna answered dryly, avoiding the other woman's eyes. Wynne let out a disapproving snarl, before healing the large bruise.

"There are better ways to let off steam, Ragna. And we won't do well against darkspawn with both of you bruised up like this". 

"I'm not doing this to let off steam!", Ragna insisted, but then she caved in immedietly "Not entirely. Look, I'm still new to fighting in armor. Back in Redcliffe, I really felt it. I need to practise more. Sten helped me with that".

"It didn't look like practise. You two were butting heads like goats in heat". The Stone golem Emitted a Low grumble. It took Ragna a while to understand that Shale was laughing. "Goats! The Qunari and the warden are goats!", Shale exclaimed. Wynne Shot Shale another one of her annoyed looks, but the golem just chuckled on.

Ragna sighed loudly. "Wynne, thank you for your advice, but I don't need it. I know what I'm doing and so does Sten. We Fight. It's what we *do*. I'm good at it and I enjoy it. I've been fighting since I could walk".

"This goes beyond just your desires! You are a grey warden. You're the only one who can stop this blight".

Ragna got to her feet. "Yes, I'm a warden, but I'm also a Warrior. Do you know when I first put on an actual armor, Wynne?"

Wynne scoffed and was about to say something, but Ragna was quicker: "At the Proving grounds, a week before Ostagar. Ostagar, Wynne! I don't know what I'm doing, I can barely hold my own in a fair fight. I can't take off my armor without Alistair and I don't know how to go against an enemy twice my size when I can barely lift my arm in the first place. When I fought Sten last night, I *won*. I don't know how I did it, but I did. I've been losing since that sodding Proving. I needed this! And I'll do it again, with or without your approval".

Wynne's expression softened and she looked at Ragna the same way Rica used to. "Oh child, you're not losing. All those lives lost at Ostagar... And you survived. As long as we still have you and Alistair, we can still stop this blight"

"I know!", Ragna called, then she realized she was shouting and mumbled an apology. "I know. It's just... I haven't felt as alive as I did last night, as I did before leaving home. If I can have this... one joy, in my life, it would mean...", Her voice trailed off and she slumped Back down, next to Wynne. The next thing she spoke was so quiet, she almost whispered it. 

"I know you depend on me. I know everything does. Me, an exiled brand of all people. Last night, when we sparred, it was as if nothing else existed in the world. No blight, No darkspawn, No duties and treaties. Nothing, save for me... And Sten". She felt her cheeks flush as she said his name. Kadan... The word drifted through her mind like a ghostly echo and she wondered why.

Wynne's sternness had melted away. "I know this must be rough for you. And if you... Really... need to fight, just come to me for healing after. And bring him, too".

"Thank you, Wynne", Ragna said.

"Goats...", Shale chuckled.

About two hours later, the companions sat gathered around the campfire, save for Morrigan, who had lit her own little fire, near her tent. She and Leliana had hunted two rabbits and a pheasant, and had also brought a small batch of mushrooms and wild herbs. Ragna and Zevran had cooked a stew out of these findings and added two slices of leftover bread, that had gone dry since they had left Redcliffe. It was a good meal, though without Bodahn, there was no seasoning. For Ragna, even an unseasoned stew tasted like a feast. She finished her bowl first and then ate the rest of Leliana's, too, after the Orlesian bard had offered it to her. They were listening to one of Zevran's riveting tales from Antiva, when Alistair threw a question into the Mix: "So... Where are we heading now?"

A silence fell over the group and all eyes wandered to Ragna. "The closest place on our list, I'd say. To Orzammar", she said, looking at her fellow warden.

He disapproved. She could see it in his face. He recoiled, almost as if he had been slapped. "Orzammar?", he asked, but the way he pronounced it made it almost sound like an insult. "What about Eamon?"

"What about him? He isn't fit to aid us. The warden has more pressing issues at hand", Sten said, while dragging one of Bodahn's whetstones over Asala's blade.

"But we know what can cure him! We have to go to Haven!", Alistair insisted, barely concealing the anger in his voice.

Leliana spoke up, too: "He's right. Just think about what it would mean to the chantry, if we found the Urn. Andraste's ashes...", The last two words were almost a whisper, hushed revearance for her prophet.

Ragna needed to choose her next words carefully. She cared not for this chantry the humans were so enthralled by. The memory of Kinloch Hold was still fresh, not to mention her bad encounter with the reveared mother in Lothering. However, she couldn't just blurt out her disdain, as she had when Alistair had confronted her with her actions after Lothering. He wasn't the only follower of this human religion in the camp, anymore. Leliana, Wynne, even Zevran to some degree, all of them worshipped this burnt woman.

"We'll go to Haven. We will! But we need the support of Orzammar, too. It's not going to be easy, but it can be done. There are no better warriors to aid us against the darkspawn. We need everyone we can get. It won't take long, we have the treaties. We can bring them before the Assembly, have King Endrin assign us a battalion and then we'll be out again". 

"You just want to go back home!", Alistair shouted. "What if Eamon dies while we're down there, celebrating your family reunion?"

"Alistair!", Wynne cut him off with a sharp glare.

"I would like to go to Orzammar", Shale said. "There are... memories. Fleeting glimpses of a river made of molten stone. If I could see it..."

"Eamon's state will not deteriorate, while we make our soujourn", Wynne added. "And we are heading to Haven afterwords, correct?".

Ragna raised her hand to her heart to pledge: "I promise we'll go to this Haven place, as soon as we're back."

"Very well. That settles it then", Wynne said, content. Alistair still looked striken, but he frowned into his bowl of stew and chose sullen silence instead of an argument. It was Zevran who broke the tension, with a swift smile and a wink at Ragna:

"So then, my dear grey warden, are we going to enjoy another show tonight?"

"Show?", Ragna repeated stupidly, not knowing what the Antivan was talking about.

"Oh, the usual - longing stares at your mysterious strong partner, flashy show of force, the unadressed tension between two dramatic opponents pouring into intense battle maneuvres, the passion of crossing blades with a forbidden fr-"

"Stop!", Leliana huffed, as she burst into giggles. "You're giving them ideas". Alistair chuckled into his stew, even Wynne couldn't help a grin slipping onto her expression.

Ragna's cheeks burned a bright shade of red, as she pointedly avoided looking at Sten. "I... We're... We're Not...", she fumbled for the right words, only conjuring up further laughter by her companions.

"Not what, my friend?", Zevran asked with a wide grin on his lips.

"We are training for battle", Sten stated in his regular monotone, his expression unreadable as always. "And you are welcome to join. There are things even you need to learn". 

Zevran raised an eyebrow at Sten. "Truly? I hadn't thought you the type to be honest, but I'd be happy to show you my skills, my stern Qunari"

That sent Leliana over the edge and she clutched her stomach, laughing loudly as she clamboured to her feet and walked towards Morrigan's campfire, taking the small kettle with the stew in it with her, and giggling all the time.

"It is a matter of determination... and stance", Sten said, his voice without a hint of irony. "I doubt you would handle yourself against a Karataam." 

"You'd be surprised", Zevran smiled. "In Antiva I've had the honor to face quite a few of your kind. What I lack in stance I make up for with flexibility... And a winning smile, of course".

"Doubtful", Sten stated with cold indifference.

"The Qunari could crush the painted elf like a pigeon", Shale said, blissfully unaware of the undertones in Zevran's words.

"Now that would be awkward, my friend. But alas, I don't want to be robbed of such an exquisite show tonight. Mayhaps another night?", Zevran said, still retaining his smile.

"Very well", Sten replied. If he had caught Zevran's implications, he chose not to address them. Instead, he turned to Ragna, who had controlled her embarrassment by then. "Shall we?", he asked, getting to his.

Ragna nodded vigorously, graciously taking the chance to leave the awkward situation. She pointedly ignored her companions eyes, as she followed the tall Qunari away from the fire.

The evening's chill crept into her bones the moment she turned away from the warmth of the fire. Ferelden's climate was harsh and unforgiving. The lava streams of Orzammar were but a distant memory to Ragna, who had spent the last weeks trudging through rain and mud. Even the occasional sunny days couldn't match the heat of her home, and as she reached for her sword, her fingertips were freezing. 

"No armor today, Kadan?" Sten's voice was cold and challenging, almost taunting. "Are you sure?"

"Trying to rile up your opponent before battle? Again?", Ragna grinned as she donned the battered shield she had carried since Ostagar. "It didn't do you much good last time".

"Perhaps", the Qunari said. "But I never hide behind layers of metal." His lips curled into a smirk.

"You're right, you simply get beaten like a fool", Ragna returned the grin as the two started circling each other.

Sten chuckled, amused. Then, his eyes found hers and a sudden intensity radiated from the Qunari. "Not today", he said and got into an aggressive stance, the tip of Asala pointing upward. Ragna grasped the grip of her shield and steeled herself for impact, still grinning and throwing his intensity right back at him.

And just like that the fight was on.


	4. Screams and Raindrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sten of the Beresaad hears Ragna Brosca Scream im her sleep and admits his feelings.

Ragna Brosca screamed in her sleep. Nobody in camp ever mentioned it to her, but they all heard it. On a windless night the chilling screams even carried over to Morrigan's tent. They talked about it at first. Alistair was able to shine some light on the situation. A spill of words Sten only understood individually. Taint. Archdemon. Grey Wardens. Calling. Whatever connection they had to the screams at night, the Qunari could not fathom. All he knew was that she was suffering and he was just as useless to helping her as he had been useless when trying to save his brothers, or finding Asala.

He didn't like to hear her like this. He would try to convince himself it was because she was his leader and leaders were meant to be strong. If anything it was bad for morale. Yes, that was why it bothered him so much. There was no ulterior motive whatsoever, gnawing at the back of his mind, filling him with sorrow and worry whenever he heard her anguished screams after nightfall. He almost managed to convince himself. But night after night, when he lay in that twilight state between wake and sleep, staring up at the linen canopy of his tent, he found himself tense. Just let her sleep, just give her one night of peace. Just let her sleep. Please. The thoughts flowed through his mind over and over, like a river without a source or an end, only currents drowning him in worry. He didn't know to whom he was pleading, but it made no matter either way. Each night his wordless pleas dissipated like morning mist, when another shrieking sob carried over from Ragna's tent. He wanted to get up, wanted to comfort her, do something, do anything to help her through the night. "Ashkost kata.", a voice rang through his head, numbing him, pinning him down. You are seeking death.

He hated it. He hated being numb. He hated seeing her in the morning, crawling out of her tent, pale and exhausted, with dark rings beneath her eyes. Whenever she caught his gaze, she smiled at him, nonetheless. He should have shown stoicism. Instead, he felt his entire substance sucked in her direction. He shouldn't care about a sleepy grin at dust and yet he couldn't help but mirror the expression. Ashkost kata, you are chosing death. 

>A Sten does not care about the struggles of the bas.<

He chose a quiet moment, when they were travelling. "We are getting close to Orzammar now. How are you feeling, Warden?" The red-haired woman looked up to him, almost startled to hear him speak unprompted. "I don't know what to think of it, if I'm being honest. I think Alistair might be right. What if I really just want to go home? What if there's nothing there?". 

"You're questioning your decision". Was it this, that drove her to suffer each night?

"No, I... I don't think I am. I just..." She sighed, tired. "I just don't know if I did the right thing. Yeah, I guess you're right". 

>A good Arishok knows to project strength and confidence to his subordinates. Any question of that authority is weakness in the eyes of the Qun.<

"There are a lot of things to consider. There's no way you can make everyone happy. For what it is worth, I believe you are showing wisdom by pondering your decision", he said, finding her gaze, sinking into the warm brown of her eyes. He felt the heat seeping into his skin, flushing his cheeks in crimson. Ashkost kata. You are seeking death.

"Thank you, Sten", her voice was quiet, quivering, as if battling to sound strong and yet filled with sorrow.

>The bas are to be feared and hated. They will plant the seeds of Chaos in the midst of the Qun and are to be destroyed.<

He reached out to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Whatever happens im Orzammar, I will be there for you. I want you to know that, Kadan". Kadan. He had said it again. It had slipped out so many times by then, he was almost getting used to it. Ashkost kata. You are seeking death.

It was night again and Sten lay awake once more, Asala resting beside him. She had brought the blade back to him, for no other reason than to comfort him. Droplets of rain drummed against the outside of his tent. A soothing sound. Nothing like the monsoon he was used to, back in Par Vollen, a harsh and careless storm of rain, a rain that clensed the body and drained the mind of all doubt, all thoughts, all desires. No. This rain was soft as a song, soft as brown eyes, soft as freckled cheeks and sleepy smiles at dawn. 

Her scream teared through the rain like a knife in the dark. A shrill beast of a sound, full of terror, of anguish, of pain. 

>A Sten is but a vessel, an extended arm of the Qun, a sword and a warrior and nothing else. A Sten desires naught but battle. To desire something else is an affront against the wisdom of the Qun.<

Parshaara", Sten grumbled. Enough. He clambored to his feet and fumbled at the entrance of his tent. Ashkost kata, you are seeking death.

The rain only misted his hair, as he stepped outside and crossed to distance between their tents in swift steps. Ashkost kata. You are seeking death.

Darkness greeted him inside the Warden's tent. Darkness and sobs. She was awake. "Sten?", a voice asked, shaking, riddled with pain. "It's you, isn't it?" She tried to hide the hurt in her voice, tried to sound stoic, not unlike himself, he thought.

"Kadan means 'my heart'. It means I am yours, Ragna. It means I am there". Ashkost kata. You are seeking death.

"Don't leave", she said, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, as she moved towards him. Hands calloused from battle, wet with tears wrapped around the grey and as she closed the distance between them he sank into her embrace. "Sten...", she breathed his name, his name, and he knew, he knew there was something in his life more precious than all the wisdom of the Qun. Ashkost kat-

Her lips were soft and her kiss made him collapse in her embrace, hungry, desperate, to never let this moment pass, nor this night to end. 

Raindrops drummed against the outside of the tent and that night, no more screams ripped through the darkness


	5. Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ragna and Sten are confronted with the events of the night prior. Old barriers are re-established as idiots can't talk about their feelings. This one has angst in it. Lots of angst.

Ragna awoke to the sound of her tent being closed, followed by footsteps slowly heading away. It was still dark inside her tent, dawn was yet to come. Sten had gone, but his scent lingered in her bedroll. A rich, earthy, masculine scent that made her heart flutter. A rush of emotions took hold of Ragna, as she remembered what had transpired the night before. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she recollected what Sten had said, how she had kissed him, how she had fallen asleep, resting her head against his warm chest. Then, a pang of regret hit her, when she remembered the sorry state he had found her in, in the first place. A sobbing wreck, crying over the past, afraid of the Archdemon barging into her dreams, ashamed of Sten seeing her like this and yet unable to keep away... 

She shook her head in embarrassment. She was no broken thing and hated that she had let him see her in a vulnerable moment. What had she been thinking, telling him to stay? She had worked so hard to project nothing but strength and sureness to her companions and now it was all for naught. A deep sigh worked its way from her chest and releasing it brought back a flood of doubt. Tension took hold of her wiry body, as she steadied herself and donned her armor. The chain shirt was first. It weighed down heavily on her shoulders and she felt all the familiar places ache. Her shoulders, her neck and her upper arms were already throbbing, but she was not done yet. Next, she managed to awkwardly fasten her cuirass, pauldrons, armguards and grieves. Feeling like a clattering tin can, she finally reached for her belt and fastened her longsword to it. Then she reached for her shield and finally climbed out of her tent.

It was dark outside, though the first streaks of light were beginning to gather on the horizon. Dawn was approaching. In the half-darkness, Ragna could see that the campfire had been extinguished by the night’s rainfall, leaving the fireplace a blackened puddle filled with ashen mud. The heavy downpour of rain in the night had subsided, leaving only a light drizzle of raindrops falling from the sky, misting Ragna’s red curls. Now, in the early hours of the morning, there was nobody on guard, nobody was awake, lest for Ragna and Sten. The Qunari had not gone back to his tent. His large footprints in the soft ground lead away from the campsite, into the surrounding woods. As Ragna followed them she soon heard the sharp sound of a whetstone sliding over a blade cut through the quaint sounds of the forest.

Sten was perched on the trunk of an uprooted tree, his greatsword Asala in his lap. He moved the whetstone over the blade without looking, for his gaze was fixed to the ground, his mind somewhere far away. He didn’t even notice her approach, despite the sounds her armor made, whenever she moved. Ragna came to a halt a couple of meters away from the Qunari, watching him for a moment. He had been outside long enough for the rain to run in streams over his face, dripping from his brows and the tip of his nose. Having not bothered to don any armor, the thin fabrics of his clothes were drenched and stuck to his body, making his silhouette sharp in the dim light. He had to be cold yet he showed no sign of discomfort, apart from the deep furrow of his brows and his ever so slight frown, though Ragna figured they were not caused by the weather, but rather by whatever thoughts he was mulling over. She remembered his words, from the previous night „Kadan means 'my heart'. It means I am yours, Ragna. It means I am there“ The memory alone was enough to quicken her heartbeat and she felt it hammering in her chest, as her knees grew weak. Then she swallowed, forcing control back over her body and approached Sten.

He looked up when the noises of her armor finally carried over to him. „Warden“, he said as a greeting, cold, formal, as if he hadn’t just spent the night in her tent. Taken aback by this tone, Ragna stopped. „I didn’t mean to intrude“, she said, looking at him quizzically. A stiffness took hold of the Qunari’s massive shoulders and he avoided her gaze, following the movement of his whetstone on Asala’s blade. „And I didn’t mean to wake you“, he gave back, still looking down.

„Why did you come to my tent?“, she asked. Sten winced at that, ever so slightly, but quickly regained his composure. „I heard you screaming in your sleep again. It is unwise for a leader to show such a sign of weakness. I was merely concerned for the integrity of this group.“ He lowered the whetstone and finally looked up at her. „Why did you kiss me?“ His violet eyes drilled into her with the usual intensity, almost overwhelming her and flushing her face.

„Kadan. It means ‘my heart’.“, she repeated his words from the night before. For the faintest moment the sharpness of his stare dissolved and his eyes widened in shock over what she now knew. And there was something else in his gaze. Barely concealed fear. „It was a mistake. A moment of weakness. One for which I apologize. I shouldn’t have allowed it to come this far, Ka- Warden“.

His words stung harder than any wound could. Ragna swallowed hard. With a single sentence Sten had managed to reinforce all the walls between them. She should have expected as much. Yet the rejection hit her like a blow to the face. Her voice came out raspy and strained: „Well, in that case I’m sorry I misinterpreted your intentions. I... I’ll be seeing you, Sten“, and with that she spun around and strode back towards the camp. Before she entered the treeline, she sighed again and turned around to look back. To her surprise Sten was still staring at her, though as soon as he caught her gaze, the muscles in his back tensed and he pulled away, staring back down at his blade. Ragna drew in the air sharply, swallowing down the lump in her throat and headed back to camp.

Her footsteps grew fainter and finally, when he was sure she was out of sight, Sten dropped Asala. The greatsword clattered to the muddy ground. The Qunari ran his large hands over his face and felt his entire body tremble. „I’m sorry, Kadan. It needs to be this way“, he muttered, before giving in to his despair and closing his eyes.


End file.
